


then fixed his teeth your heart beneath

by Khismer



Series: vampire boyfriend [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, F/M, Vampire AU, accidentally impolite vampires, intentionally impolite vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khismer/pseuds/Khismer
Summary: a boy crashes through your window. things get a little out of hand.





	then fixed his teeth your heart beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirachama (crytalstellar)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crytalstellar/gifts).



You're folding laundry in your bedroom on a night so quiet you’re nearly dozing off when you hear a crash from the living room. 

It’s so loud it makes you jump, hanger slipping from your hands and falling with a clatter to the floor. That’s… not a  _ good _ sound.

You push the already-folded clothes off your lap and stand with haste, then hesitate. It’s… well, it’s hopefully nothing to be alarmed about -- probably nothing, even! -- but that was… 

Okay, that was loud as shit, there’s no way that was normal apartment noises or the sound of the foundation settling. You grab a heavy knickknack off your dresser, something that was probably supposed to be a paperweight but has, until this moment, just been useless clutter. You hold it firmly in one hand before pushing the bedroom door open, and -- 

There he is. 

The source of the noise, who is definitely, definitely not supposed to be here. 

You register the shock of white hair first, stark against his dark clothes, and then the oddity of his position -- through your window. 

Although he didn't even make it all the way inside your apartment. He’s just sort of laying about halfway in, slumped on his stomach on your windowsill, head down and arms draped uselessly so that his hands rest limply on the floor. 

He raises his head weakly when you stop, shocked, staring at the scene. 

“Hey,” he says, flashing a weak but still somehow flirtatious smile, and then his eyes flutter shut and his head drops again. 

And then you start to panic. There's -- blood, and there's glass everywhere, so no wonder there's blood really, but -- what in the actual shit?

You clutch at your hair, your thoughts spilling out in a near-incoherent stream. “Oh my god what the fuck who the hell are you how did you get here, did you somehow fall? Through my window? ...sideways?? What the shit, how the shit, I--”

He hasn't lifted his head since that first moment. Oh no. 

You take quick steps over to the window and kneel with trepidation by him. You can feel broken glass through the fabric of your pants. 

“Oh my god  _ please  _ tell me you're alive and you're not going to die halfway in my living room I am not equipped to deal with that.” With shaking hands, you reach out and raise his head, palms against his cheeks and fingers under his jaw. “Hey, hey, look at me, can you hear me?”

He blinks blearily at you, squinting through eyelashes wet with blood. “Mmn.” Okay, that's -- not an answer, exactly, but he's not dead yet, thank god. 

You fumble for your phone in your pocket, but when you manage to get it out and start swiping at the screen with desperate, clumsy motions, his hand clamps over your wrist. 

“Don't,” he says, and draws in a wheezing breath, “wait--” He cuts off with a long, wet-sounding cough that leaves him panting shallowly. 

“It's okay, it's okay, I'm going to call an ambulance,” you soothe, “you'll be okay, don't worry!” 

“No,” he groans, “don't take me to the hospital.” 

“What? Why not?” Especially when he's practically dyed his shirt through with his own blood -- and it's started to seep into yours, even more so when you wipe your hands on your shirt, hoping that typing will be easier now that your fingers are no longer blood-slick. 

When he speaks again, his tone is pleading. “They'll find me there.” 

And  _ that _ gives you pause. His hand falls limply and oh, god, now there's a bloody imprint of his hand on your arm. “Who -- who's they, and, and what should I do instead, then?”

He draws in a shuddering breath.  “Threw me… through the window.” Jesus fuck. 

“And they’re still out there? Wait, what are you--?”

He shifts, pulling an arm back, and you yelp at the thought that the change in angle might be digging some of those glass shards further into his stomach, but this does not stop him, and moments later, he is handing you a phone. 

It's a little slick with blood now, and there's a crack spiderwebbing across the screen from one corner which looks near-crushed -- from impact, or from something before? He drops it into your palm and then sags a little with the effort. “Get… get my brother,” he pants. “He’ll help… get me somewhere safe...”

“Okay, alright, um -- what's the passcode?” This phone does not look factory-fresh, this looks modified, heavily. ...does this have a  _ 16-digit slot  _ for his passcode? 

He rattles off numbers through labored breaths and, luckily, you manage to catch each one. 

Once you’ve unlocked it, you start scrolling through his contacts. “Okay, um, what’s he listed as?”

“Idiot.” 

“Is than an answer, or are you -- okay, yeah, I see him.” Wow. ‘Idiot,’ plain as day. Must be close. “I’m dialing now, what do I say?” 

“Just… tell him Saeran needs his help.” He presses his palms against the windowsill, struggling to rise, and mutters, “and to hurry his ass up.”

As the phone rings, you tuck it between your shoulder and your ear, inclining your head so it stays secure, and stand so that you can try to gingerly remove him -- Saeran, you now know -- from the window. Glass crunches underfoot as you shift your weight, but you still wince as you hear the wet  _ squelch  _ of the glass that hadn’t yet broken off slide out from his stomach.

Jesus, look at that gash. 

You pull his arm over your shoulder, and manage to assist him in swinging one leg over the windowsill when the line stops ringing and you hear a voice at last. You begin talking immediately.

“Yeah hi, um, Saeran -- is in trouble, he’s hurt and he needs your help and --” 

And it’s then you realize that you’ve reached his voicemail. 

_ “--leave a message at the tone! Thank you~” _

You droop as it beeps at you, beginning to lead Saeran to the couch, then shake yourself off. “Saeran is hurt,” you say, more firmly this time. “He needs your help.” 

You fill in Saeran’s brother -- or his voicemail, anyway -- on your name and address before hanging up, and when you lower the phone, Saeran is watching you with half-lidded eyes, propped up against the arm of the couch. Rather striking eyes, too. Pale, but bright. Might be unsettling, if not for how weak he looks right now. Kind of robs him of that enigmatic vibe. 

“Voicemail,” he says flatly. 

“Yyyeah,” you admit.

“Figures.” 

“So… then if he didn’t answer, what--” You pause as you hear a howl from outside that sounds… close. Unsettlingly so, with your window busted open like this, offering such an easy way in. 

His lips twist and he mutters something nearly inaudible. “Stupid… dogs.”

“Don't like dogs?” Interesting time to divulge that fact. Then again, he’s hurting, so maybe the sound grates on his already frayed nerves.

“Mmn.” He hunches his shoulders. God, he is not looking good right now.

This is absurd. You can’t just sit and wait here, you’ve got to get him some medical attention. “Okay,” you say, “look, if someone… tossed you through my window and then  _ didn't  _ come bounding up the fire escape to follow you, I think you're… probably good on that count.” He’s frowning, trying to push himself up on the couch, but you press on, saying, “I can’t just leave you to bleed out on my couch, you  _ know _ that, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he protests, and this elicits a sharp burst of disbelieving laughter from you. 

“You’ve got part of my window  _ in _ you!”

“And I’ll be  _ fine _ ,” he says, now through gritted teeth -- though that may be from pain more than anything else, as he’s got an arm pressed to his waist as he tries to sit.

“Yeah, okay, how about we let the experts decide that, huh?” You’re pulling out your phone as he teeters closer to you -- and then the fire escape rattles. 

You pause. It rattles again, louder. Sounds like someone’s coming up. On…  _ very _ heavy footsteps. And is that  _ breathing  _ you hear? Clear enough, even from the center of the room?

You take a step back, closer to the couch. 

“...what the hell is that?” you ask, voice small but sharp. 

“Those -- fucking dogs followed me up,” he growls, then winces in pain. 

  
“Oh,  _ they _ have dogs,” you say. “That’s… that’s what you meant, huh?”

Your eyes remained fixed on the window as the footsteps grow louder.

Something snarls, low and much, much too close for comfort. 

“...my car’s on the parking lot on the other side of the building, if we move through the hallways, we can go straight to it and be out before anyone sees us.”

When you glance at him, he's gone stiff, gaze also pinned to the window. “Great,” he says, “let’s do that thing that involves not getting caught.”

You dart forward and bend so he can drape an arm around your shoulder, and together you wobble towards the door. You snatch up your keys and then hesitate as you close the door behind you, then begin to lock it. 

“Are you serious?” He asks, disbelief clear in his voice. “Just go!” 

You don’t respond until after it’s locked and you’ve tucked your keys into your pocket. “I  _ live _ here,” you mutter, starting down the hallway with him, “Things are already weird enough, I’m not gonna just leave my home open.”

“Yeah,” he pants, “and that broken window’s not an open invitation?”

“I can’t do anything about that, okay? Besides, it’s fine, even if that was someone looking for you, it’s not like they’re following us now.” As you reach the end of the hallway, you hear a loud thud from behind you. 

...a little faster couldn’t hurt.

But he’s swaying something fierce. “You still think you’re fine?”

“ _ Mmh _ .” He frowns as you round the corner, stumbling a little. “I  _ am _ fine.”

“Look at you, you can hardly walk.”

“But I’m doing it.”

“I’d argue that  _ I’m  _ doing it, actually, you’ve got most of your weight on me.” 

“We don’t need a hospital,” he insists, “I just need to get home.”

“Yeah,” you say, and grunt with the effort of hoisting open the door to the stairs while not letting him slip, “I’ll be sure to make a note of that in the police report, that’s definitely going to keep me from being arrested for letting you die in my apartment.”

“Technically,” he says, “there's better odds that I would die in your car at this rate.”

“Oh, that’s optimistic,” you grouse, but ask, “Doing okay?”

His breathing grows heavier as you both head down the stairs, but still he nods. 

Thank god you parked nearby. You help him into the passenger seat and to buckle, though he laughs weakly at that.

“You think that’ll help me now?”

“I think if you go through a window twice in one night, that’ll be the end of you.”

“Where are we going?” 

You glance over at him as you settle into your own seat. He’s already… seeping into your car, jesus. “Hospital.”

He groans. 

“Look, we’ll compromise, okay? Where's your brother? Or… your home? I’ll go to one in that general direction. Can you just… here.”

You unlock your phone, then toss it to him so he can put in the address as you begin to pull out of the parking lot. 

After a moment, he hands it back, and you give a low whistle as you glance at the screen. “That’s… pretty far.” He's holding up surprisingly well, all things considered, but that looks like it's beyond city limits, and there's no way you can risk it. 

Not that you'd risk it even if his house was close. This isn't a situation where home remedies would work. 

It's a little slow, limiting your typing to when you're stopped at lights and crossroads, but you manage to pull up a list of hospitals, urgent cares, and clinics. 

“There's something on the main road out of town, which looks like the way to your brother, okay?” 

He makes a noncommittal noise, but the question is more for courtesy’s sake. It's only about a five minute’s drive away, so it should be fine, right? Maybe only about a minute farther than ones not on the route to his house, but he's still conscious so that's -- fine. Right?

Otherwise you're pulling a truly dumbass move just to get this dying stranger to be a little less surly. 

You're so focused on sticking to the route and not missing turns that it takes you a while to process a new noise.

It's soft, just an occasional little clink, but still you look over. 

And then you yelp. 

He's currently preoccupied with pulling bits of glass from his stomach and setting them on your dashboard, which has already accumulated an alarming little pile. 

“What are you doing?” you cry.

He looks at you, then as his stomach, then back to you. “Fixing it myself.”

“That's not -- don't  _ do _ that!”

“You’d rather I just leave it in me?”

“Well -- yeah! Isn't there that thing about stabbing where you're supposed to leave whatever stabbed you there so it doesn't leave gaps or something? That's not -- nngh.” You wince as he pulls out a piece a few inches long, longer than the width of his palm. He contemplates it for a moment, looking oddly impressed, then flicks it onto the pile. 

“It'll be fine,” he says, and continues. 

“God, I wish I had your confidence,” you mutter, but luckily, you only have this last turn to make and then you won't have any reason to worry. 

But panic begins to bubble up the moment you pull into the parking lot, as even from the outside, it seems more reminiscent of a store in a strip mall than a proper clinic. 

Oh, man, this place looks a lot smaller than you were anticipating. Shit. Well, it's still billed as an urgent care, it's gotta be able to help, right?

“We shouldn’t be here,” he protests, but allows you to help him out. 

As soon as you make it through the door, your doubts double. It’s  _ empty _ . 

Well, no, there's a receptionist, and to her credit, she's immediately raising her head to focus on the pair of you as you enter, but it's not a particularly large room, and yet there's no shortage of empty chairs. 

She stares at you for a moment and then picks up the phone as you help ease Saeran into a seat, and as you stagger closer to try to explain, falteringly, “there was an accident -- he's lost a lot of blood--”

He's already started picking out more bits of glass. You can hear them hit the floor behind you. 

Shortly, she sets the phone back on the receiver, an annoyed look crossing her face for only a moment before her expression smooths out. 

“Wait here,” she says. She speaks firmly, leaving no room for uncertainty. 

She stands and goes running and you let yourself sag against the counter. It's fine, it's okay, she's going to come back with a doctor and they're going to sort him out, he's going to be fine,  _ you're  _ going to be fine, they're going to stitch him up and hook him up to an IV and do whatever else needs found and he'll be fine. 

And, odds are, there isn't anyone in your apartment now and your insurance will probably find the whole thing funny in the morning and that'll get sorted out easy, too, and it'll be fine, it'll be okay. 

You raise your head when you hear the sound of footsteps nearing and then the receptionist is back. 

“The doctor on call is just a step behind, there's nothing to worry about, just --” She stops short. “Where's your friend?”

“What? He's right there, he--”

Isn't there. You  _ do  _ take notice of a terrible looking trail of blood that looks smeared, like someone dragged something over it, or crawled or something, leading to a side door, but then there's bloody footprints over that that continue until they overlap with the ones that you trailed inside. 

You're off like a shot because by that logic, if you follow the footsteps back out, you'll probably find -- 

“--Saeran?”

He's sitting in the passenger seat, knees up to his chest, sullenly sucking on the -- straw of a juice box. 

You come over to the side of the car and try the door, but it's locked. “ _ Saeran _ .”

He meets your gaze and for a moment, he doesn't do anything, but then, at last, he resents and pulls the lock up. 

You open the door. “What are you doing.” Your voice is flatter than your meant it, but really, what is  _ up  _ with this guy? All you want is to help him to  _ not die of severe blood loss, _ does he really have to fight you every step of the way? Who does he think he pissed off, the mob?

“...called my brother again,” he says. “Finally picked up. He's on his way.”

“Well that's… good, but if he's already coming here, why don't you come back in and let them look at you while you're waiting?”

He meets your eyes again. “No.”

“ _ No _ ?” You fold your arms and try to resist the urge to snap at him. “And why not?”

“I've already got most of the glass out, and it won't take long to heal.”

“Are you--” You pause to let the irritation drain from your voice and in the silence he takes another sip out of… whatever he has. Where the hell did he get that, anyway? When you narrow your eyes at it, trying to get a better look, he frowns and cradles it protectively to his chest, effectively blocking your view. 

Whatever. You'll find out soon enough anyway. You draw in a slow breath, then try again. “You realize that you are… not in great shape, don't you? You've left so much of a trail behind you that I can't imagine you have much left in you anymore. What possible reason could you have for not going in when we're right here?”

His gaze is beyond stubborn. “Don't wanna.”

“Do you have a death wish?” So much for that ‘no snapping’ thing. 

“It's too late for that anyway,” he mutters. 

“Oh, the hell it is.” You lean closer, resting one hand on the roof of the car. “Look, I don't know what your hang-up is, but I am  _ not  _ going to let you bleed to death sitting outside a clinic. If you don't want to walk in, fine, I'm sure I can get someone to bring out a goddamn gurney if necessary to get you in there.”

He rolls his eyes and stares resolutely over your shoulder -- and then his eyes widen and he grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls you in.

You protest even as you fall, flopping across his lap, and he pulls the door shut and slams his fist down over the lock. 

“Hey, what the  _ fuck _ ,” you complain. You try to wiggle into a better position to sit up, but he puts a hand on your back to push you back down and leans down, curling around you. 

“What--”

Something hits the car, hard enough to rock it, and you shriek. 

For a minute, all you can think is that you've just been t-boned by another car, but an experimental shift of your feet proves that they're still intact, as is the passenger door they're pressed against. 

You scramble to sit the moment the car stills, falling to the floor in front of the passenger seat and rising to peek out the window. 

Immediately, you wish you hadn't **.**

You have no goddamn clue what hit you, if not a car, but whatever it is is big, and fast, and coming straight for you again.

As you scramble back, you fall against him, and he draws in a sharp, pained breath.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you mutter, tripping over yourself to drag yourself over him and into the driver’s seat while fumbling for your keys. 

You jam your keys into the ignition just as the thing hits you again. 

You clutch your steering wheel for dear life as the car tips almost perfectly on its side. Dimly, you are aware of Saeran’s seatbelt clicking into place. How nice that he's paying attention to that sort of thing  _ now _ . 

And then, miraculously, the car tips back. 

The impact isn't the most pleasant sensation, but you're too relieved to be right-side-up to really care. You turn the key with enough force that it feels like it might snap in half, pull the gearshift into reverse, and slam on the gas. You end up overcompensating and reversing halfway across the parking lot, probably way too close to where that thing is, but it's fine, it's okay, you're moving now, as long as you keep moving it'll be fine. 

You've only got the barest plan of where you're going, but you're suddenly grateful for the near-empty parking lot. At least the odds of crashing into another car while trying to figure it out are pretty low. 

Exit there on the left, hang a right, follow the road back down where you came from, another right, and then straight on, back on the path to his house. You’ll figure out if that’s actually your end goal once you've put some distance between you and this place and that… thing. Right. You can do this. 

You switch gears again, press down on the gas, lurch forward -- and hit the thing as it comes barreling out from the sidelines. 

The car jerks to a stop. “What is that what did I just hit what the--”

Saeran is pushing frantically at your arm. “Drive drive drive!”

So you do. 

You actually go careening over the curb at that first turn, too panicked to accurately judge the angle, and overcompensate at the next, swinging into the bushes bordering the lane. 

You don't let yourself think about it, just right your course with shaking hands and speed along on your way. First ten, then twenty, then thirty miles over the limit. Nothing seems fast enough, nothing seems  _ far  _ enough, and your heart is pounding from a rush of adrenaline that floods through you and does not cease. 

Every flash of light or movement from the corner of your eye seems like  _ the thing _ , and you nearly veer into another car paused at a stop sign, because in the moment before you identified what it was, it seemed strange and foreign and dangerous. 

It doesn't help that he'll toss in little suggestions as you go, reminding you to turn here, or take that road instead, it's quicker, and all the while urging you to go, faster, hurry up!

You adjust to these changes as best you can, but you're sure you must be a sight to see, switching lanes last minutes and darting down side roads in little neighborhoods that really weren't meant for the speeds you're going. You're lucky you haven't been pulled over, though the late hour probably contributes to that. 

Finally, on an empty stretch of road, Saeran says, “pull over.”

“Here?” 

“Yes.” His voice is even, unshaken, and you envy that stability. 

This doesn't seem nearly close enough, based on what you remember of the map, nor does it feel far enough away from the clinic, but the idea of rest is making the adrenaline drain out of you, and so you pull the car over at the side of the road and turn it off. 

For a moment, you just sit there, hands white-knuckled as you grip the steering wheel. “What,” you say at last, “the hell was that.”

“It was that goddamn dog,” he mutters, distaste in his tone, but you jab an accusatory finger at him. 

“That!” you cry, “was no goddamn dog! That was -- that was -- big enough to be a fucking bear, but it didn't move like one, what was --” And then you pause. “Are you texting right now? Right now, while I’m freaking the fuck out because I'm dragging your ass away from something that shook my car like a toy and you just -- have you -- been doing that, texting calmly this whole time? Should I follow your lead and not be panicking, somehow?”

“Hey,” he snaps, now scowling, “excuse me for trying to find us a way out of this mess.”

“Doing a single goddamn thing to help after fighting me every step of the way doesn't make us square and even,” you protest. “And what exactly did you do to ‘find us a way out?’”

“I told my brother where we are,” he says, mouth twisting in disdain. “He's on his way. It's better than waiting around here.”

“Okay, you  _ told  _ me to pull over and wait, otherwise we'd still be driving, so that's  _ really  _ not a fair assessment.”

“If you hadn't insisted on a hospital we'd already be there, so yeah, it really is.”

“Oh, okay, sorry, silly me, not wanting you to die, my bad!”

You indicate his stomach, and he curls an arm protectively around his middle -- and then his shoulders shake with a sudden coughing fit.

“Ahh -- shit, are you okay?” You hesitate, hands hovering outstretched, and then you awkwardly pat his back as he coughs. 

“Mmn.” He wipes his mouth weakly when he finally straightens, eyes looking a touch more unfocused, but at least he's not wiping any blood away from his mouth. “Yeah, ‘m okay.” He sounds groggier than before, and certainly less agitated. 

His phone beeps, and with only a cursory glance at it, he says, “he's here.”

Sure enough, you hear the crunch of gravel beneath tires, and when you look to see who’s approaching, what pulls up is the flashiest car you have ever seen. 

“Oh my god,” Saeran groans beside you. 

“I'm guessing that's him, huh?” you ask as the car parks just ahead of you and a man steps out. 

Even just from your headlights, his hair is bright enough to rival the red of his car, and as he comes up to your car, he seems brighter still. 

He knocks on your window, and it's only then that you realize that you've just been staring. You roll the window down and he offers a tense smile. 

He looks nervous, though some of this nervousness seems to ease when he looks behind you to see Saeran in the passenger seat. 

He holds out a hand, politely stopping just before the point that he would be actually reaching into your car, and you find yourself somewhat charmed by his consideration, already more than his brother has shown you in the much longer span of time you’ve known him.

“Saeyoung,” he says, and you introduce yourself as well, though you already did so when you called earlier. 

“You were the one who left a message earlier, right?” You nod, and he beams, a little sheepishly. “Thank you for that,” he says, and inclines his head to indicate Saeran. “And for this. And sorry, too! I was in the garage and didn't hear the phone ring, you're a lifesaver.”

You duck your head, embarrassed by his praise, and hear Saeran scoff beside you. Fair chance he's rolling his eyes, too. 

Saeyoung’s gaze shifts to his brother. “Saeran, can you walk?”

“Yeah,” grumbles Saeran, “no thanks to you.”

“We should go,” Saeyoung says. “Avoid… another encounter. Saeran said you already ran into someone tonight?”

“We sure ran into  _ something _ ,” you say carefully, and Saeran snickers. 

“Then we should hurry. They might still be following.” The thought brings an unpleasant shiver. 

“Who were they?” you ask, and Saeyoung gives a helpless shrug.

“Someone who wanted to hurt my brother, and who seems to want to hurt you, too,” he says.

Saeyoung rounds the car to open the passenger door, and though Saeran bats at his brother’s hand at first, he accepts it after a moment of struggling to stand on his own -- which doesn't stop him from stumbling, knees buckling seconds later, when he steps fully out of the car. 

Saeyoung lifts his head to look at you. “Would you--?”

“Oh! Of course!” You snatch your keys from the ignition and scramble to get out and lock the car quickly so that you can join Saeyoung. Together, you support Saeran the short distance to Saeyoung’s car. 

Saeyoung opens the back door, then pauses. “I know we've only just met, and you have no reason to want to stick around,” he starts, a little hesitant. “But… can I ask for your help a little longer? It'll be safer for you, too,” he promises. 

He's right. There really is no reason why you should agree. Even assuming that the thing is after him, or even you now, what's to say it won't find you with them? You could just keep driving on your own and your odds would probably be better. And you'd be agreeing with Saeran’s confident prediction that just picking the glass out of his stomach will make him right as rain, if you came along. 

Also, this is a little like the set-up to a tragic missing person case, but… your clothes are already soaked through with blood, you're still shaken from what you saw earlier, and fuck it, your apartment’s probably trashed now anyway, where else are you going to go?

So you nod, and relief spills across Saeyoung’s face like sunshine. 

You climb into the backseat first to help ease Saeran in, and Saeyoung waits anxiously until Saeran settles, then returns to the driver’s seat. 

“Keep him awake,” Saeyoung says as he starts the car, “he should be fine until we get there, but…”

You nod. “Got it.”

Saeran buckles his seatbelt, tugs it until it's comfortable -- and then lays across the seat instead, settling his head in your lap. 

“Hey,” you say, “doesn't this seem a bit counterintuitive to trying to stay awake?”

“Mmn. Hurts.”

“I don't doubt that. But it's gonna--” Well, you can't say it's gonna hurt more if he falls asleep because the risk is that sleeping is a sign that he's fading away. “...alright, so staying awake won't ease the pain, but you gotta try anyway, yeah?”

He shows no sign of moving and so, hesitantly, you card your fingers through his hair. His eyes slide shut and he practically purrs, squirming to settle in further. 

“This is bribery to stay awake,” you say. “If you start getting sleepy, I'm gonna stop.”

“Got it,” he says, and then yawns. 

You pull away. “Hey, I mean it.”

He whines in protest and grabs your hand, pulling it back down to his head. “‘m awake. Keep bribing me.”

“Fussy,” you say, but continue. His hair is soft, at least -- where it's not matted with more blood. 

...still has that juice or whatever. You try to surreptitiously reach for it, but he shoots you a baleful look, brings it up to his mouth to take a sip, and cradles it out of sight again. Stubborn brat. 

You ask him questions every once in a while, make sure he's awake enough to answer, and it's during one of these times that you ask, “so what exactly happened to make something chase you, follow you around so… determinedly?”

He frowns, though he keeps his eyes closed. “Said something someone didn't like. Guess they didn't like it more than I expected.”

“...and what did you say, and… to who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean, they've got you bleeding out and they tried to flip my car, so I’m a  _ little  _ curious.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and then, “hurts too much to talk.”

“Oh, you little liar.” His lips quirk up at that, but he still doesn't elaborate. 

He lays like this, content to receive your attention, the length of the drive, and you have to admit, it's sort of soothing. 

Although you lose some of your inner tranquility when your destination comes in sight. 

Somehow you know from the moment you see it that Saeyoung is going to make the turn into the path leading to the dilapidated old house rather than pass it by. Today has already been so strange, this may as well happen. 

“So you live here, huh?” you ask softly. 

“Yes,” says Saeran, staying still in your lap with his eyes closed. “Unless we're not at the house, then no.”

You huff, but can't stop a smile. 

Saeyoung pulls up in front of the house and parks the car. It seems even more worn-down from this vantage post. Still, they must find  _ some  _ charm in it, if they stay here. 

“This place looks… nice,” you remark, giving it a once over as you extricate yourself from the car, immediately taking up your position supporting Saeran. 

“It's a fixer-upper,” Saeyoung says, spinning his ring of keys around his finger **s.**

“Uh- _ huh. _ Bit of an odd sight, though, such a nice car in front of your… fixer-upper.”

He gestures to the car and says, “Normally I  _ would  _ park in the garage, but it's quicker to go through this way.” Still, he gives it a troubled, contemplative look. 

“Oh, who cares if they scratch up your precious baby?” Saeran complains. 

“Of course I care more about my precious baby brother than my baby car!” Saeyoung enthuses, and Saeran groans.

“ _ Stoooop. _ ”

When you get close to the front door, Saeyoung carefully slips out from under Saeran's arm and… leans close to the door to murmur something?

There's a  _ whoosh  _ like an escaping of air, followed by a decisive  _ click _ , and Saeyoung pulls the door open. He gives an exaggerated little flourish and a goofy grin. “After you~”

Boy, you sure hope it's a little better taken care of inside. And that it's not a remote murder-house and this was all an elaborate ruse to get you inside. Hoo, boy, you are not making the best decisions tonight, are you? 

The door thuds shut behind you, followed by another  _ click _ , so it's a little too late for those sort of thoughts. 

As you glance around the room in the dim light, you feel a hand settle on your shoulder -- Saeyoung, given that Saeran’s got one arm around your waist to help support his weight and the other is dangling at his side. You want to turn and ask Saeyoung what’s up, but you can't really twist when you're holding Saeran, and you can't see much of him when you look back behind you. 

Saeran squints at Saeyoung behind you and then he shakes his head vehemently. After a moment, his expression shifts to one of disdain. What--?

But Saeyoung steps past you to put an arm around Saeran. “Well!” he says, voice bright, “I’d give you the grand tour, but I think that'll have to wait until we get this taken care of.” He inclines his head to gesture to Saeran, and you nod. 

“Do you need… help?” you venture. 

“Oh, I might! I should get him settled in bed first though, and there's some tricks to his room that should be taken care of before you come in. After, though, I’ll let you know!”

“...tricks?”

“Security measures.”

Saeran mutters, “not that they keep out who they're supposed to.”

“Speaking of--” His hand leaves Saeran's side briefly to fan out towards the front door. “It's locked tight right now, so if you need out… come and get me?” He shrugs, tone marginally apologetic but still sounding carefree. “Unless you know Arabic. It's secure, though, so there's that!” He offers a cheerful grin. 

“...Arabic.”

“It's even stupider than it sounds,” Saeran deadpans. 

Saeyoung seems unphased. “So! While I get things set up, feel free to look around if you like, though there's mostly just bedrooms upstairs, which would be…”

“Ill-advised,” says Saeran. 

“A little rude,” agrees Saeyoung. “Or you could take up residence on one of the couches if you like. Or all of them!” He glances around. “We have a light switch around here somewhere… ah!” He actually snaps his fingers. We have roommates -- Hyun and Yoosung. Hyun is tall.”

“And Yoosung?”

“Isn't,” says Saeran. 

“Illuminating,” you say. 

Saeyoung laughs. For all his worry about Saeran, he seems to think his brother is at least well enough to stay untended for the duration of this little chat. Though… it might be the lighting, but Saeran seems to have a touch more color in his cheeks than he did earlier. Which is good, you suppose, if you're not imagining it. 

Before Saeyoung leads him away, Saeran presses something into your hands. “Here,” he says, “since you were so curious.”

You wince as you watch them slowly ascend the stairs. You hear faint, pained exhalations until they move along the hallway and out of sight. 

Damn, though, this place is fancy for being so rough outside. 

Feels a little like you're visiting someone's once-esteemed grandmother, or a slightly haunted house -- all the furniture you can see looks antique, with gilt and claw feet everywhere, as well as a heavy, musty smell of dust. Inherited, maybe? Or rented out, and the owner kept all the old-ass trappings from the Victorian era?

Maybe you can ask when they come back. Either way, you're a little too wary of the dust cloud you might unsettle by sitting, so you'll put that option on the backburner for now. 

There are two sources of light you could investigate instead -- left, behind the staircase, or right, a little brighter, at the end of another hallway. 

Though you suppose you should look at what Saeran has given you, first. You unclench your hand and bring the mystery gift up to your face -- and freeze. 

Is that a… blood pack?

An  _ empty  _ blood pack?

You smooth it out as best you can and peer closer for another look, but it’s unmistakable. O+, too. 

“What… the hell,” you whisper. Had you seen it wrong? Had he really been… sipping out of this thing? Maybe he was just holding it. But then, it's empty, so how -- and  _ why _ ?

Maybe he took it from the clinic to use for a home transfusion and it spilled out in the car? Or -- don't they make energy drinks packaged like this now? But then, how would he get that, if he didn't have it when he crashed into your apartment? You can think up a variety of possible answers, scenarios both plausible and far-fetched, but there's a nervous knot in your stomach at the uncertainty of it, not knowing if his intentions were dangerous or benign or just bizarre. 

Still staring at it, your feet move without conscious thought, seeking answers, and you don't realize you've started up the stairs until you hit something that makes you stumble back, losing your footing. 

There's an intense jolt of vertigo as you slip, even as some part of you recognize you were just a few steps up, but as you squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact, a hand shoots out and grabs your arm. 

Your breath catches as you're caught and drawn forward, and when you open your eyes, you realize you are cradled in a strong but gentle embrace. 

A chuckle comes from above you, in a voice low and rich. “Are you alright?”

“Yyyes?” It doesn't sound like one of the brothers, and he certainly  _ seems,  _ tall, so… “Hyun?” you guess. 

He laughs again, sounding delighted.  “Do you know me?” He loosens his arms at last, allowing you to pull back and get a look at him and oh, wow, is he  _ gorgeous _ . He looks like he's stepped straight off the cover of a magazine, with striking eyes and a face that seems carved from fine marble, even if there is something antiquated about his clothes. 

“I don't know you,” he says, after a moment of studying you.  “I'm sure I would have remembered a face as lovely as yours.”

Heat rushes to your face at the sincerity in his voice. “No, it was -- Saeyoung told me about you.”

“Did he? Good things, I hope?” he asks, voice amused.

“Just -- your name. And that you're tall,” you say. 

He smiles warmly, dazzlingly. “Well,” he says, “hopefully I can leave you with a better impression of me than that.”

He doesn't need to worry about  _ that.  _

“But you're sure you're alright?” He angles his head to look you over, hands moving from your waist to your shoulders. 

“Yeah, I'm fine, really, I was just… a little startled,” you say, and laugh wryly. “Probably should have paid a little more attention to where I was going,” you begin.

“The fault is mine,” he says, and then he clicks his tongue, a look of frustration passing over his features. “My inattentiveness could have seriously hurt you.”

“Oh, no,” you say, even though he's not technically wrong, but you weren't paying attention, either, and he seems so remorseful that you just -- feel bad. “Really, don't worry about it! What's done is done, anyway, and I'm fine, so…”

His smile remains as he looks at you warmly. 

“...what?” you ask. 

“You're kind,” he says, and there's that embarrassment again. 

“That’s -- not necessarily true, but I’m -- glad you think so,” you fumble. 

“I do,” he says. “Aside from that… clumsy introduction--” And here he looks remorseful again. “It's wonderful to meet you. Though I suppose we haven't been fully introduced just yet…”

He pauses meaningfully, and your name comes out along with a flustered laugh. 

“It's good to have a name to put to your lovely face.”

He holds out his hand, and at first you think he means to just shake hands, but when you move to reciprocate the gesture, he takes hold of your hand and places a gentle kiss to the back of it, then to the tips of your fingers. 

Before you can recover, he gently turns your hand and places a kiss to the underside of your wrist and lingers, and you feel yourself faintly flush at the implication -- and then there is sharpness. 

Pinpricks of pain, so sharp and sudden that your only initial reaction is a soft gasp. 

And then he -- laps at your wrist, what the hell?

“Wha- _ at _ are you doing?” Somehow in the midst of your panic you find the time to be embarrassed by your voice cracking

He looks up at you, still fucking  _ biting your wrist  _ and you --

Freeze isn't quite the right word. It feels… warm. Why would you want to pull away?

His eyes are such a lovely shade of red and it feels like you're falling again but you're cocooned now. Safe. 

When you blink, your eyelids feel heavy, and heavier still with each passing second. Your breathing evens out from the panicked hitch there before. You are at peace. 

There's a distant noise, and then closer, louder -- “Hyung! She's a guest!”

Immediately, Hyun stills. The expression on his face is… well, he looks like his soul has just left his body.

He pulls away, and some of the haze clears. You blink blearily at the source of the noise and find Saeyoung in the hallway at the top of the stairs, clutching the railing and looking bemused. 

You glance back at Hyun and he is  _ mortified. _ He takes a sudden step back from you so that you are no longer touching. 

Saeyoung is… starting to laugh. “You really think I'd bring home a donor without introducing you first?”

“You mean like the last three times?” Hyun snaps. “She knew my name, that seemed like your usual introduction--” He groans. “‘Someone’s here’ has never meant anything other than that before, I thought you’d say  _ anything  _ else if it was -- different!”

Saeyoung laughs. “Yeah, I guess that was misleading, huh?”

“You  _ think _ ?” Hyun snaps. 

“Sorry~” says Saeyoung, sounding anything but. “I didn't think you'd run into her before I came back for her.”

“How was I supposed to know--” And then Hyun squeezes his eyes shut and groans again, then mutters, “oh, that's no excuse.”

Saeyoung laughs louder. “It really isn't!” He sounds delighted, what the fuck. 

“Hey,” you say, shooting bewildered looks at the both of them, “does anyone want to explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

Hyun has his face buried in his hands. Muffled, you hear: "It was meant to be a courtesy bite but that was. The least courteous thing I could have done."

“To be fair,” Saeyoung says, “it  _ is  _ usually the polite thing to do.”

You pause. “Explain,” you say. 

At this, Hyun lifts his head. “Saeyoung…”

“Okay,” Saeyoung says, clasping his hands together, “I may have… not explained anything. To anyone. But Hyung…” He shakes his head mournfully. “I can't believe you stopped for a snack when my brother is bleeding out in his room.” The thought elicits a moment of panic, and then you register the tone of his voice. You can assume, then, that Saeran is  _ not  _ actually bleeding out. Probably. ...if he is and that's how his brother breaks the news, you're in trouble. 

“You _said_ it was nothing to worry about,” Hyun says hotly. “That you had everything under control and it would just be a **quick** favor for you if you didn't have to run back and forth to get the backup blood.”

“Did I?” Saeyoung taps his chin, looking thoughtful. 

“ _ Seven! _ ” Seven?

“Okay, you're right, I did. I  _ do  _ kind of need it, though, so…”

“You're not going to get it yourself? After you’re already halfway there?” Hyun protests. 

“You said you’d do it!” Saeyoung reminds, and then he points at you. “I actually came to ask if you could come upstairs when you're ready -- he's  _ almost _ decent.” And off he goes. 

Hyun is muttering his subdued fury. “That guy...”

“What does he want you to get?” you ask, staring at the space where Saeyoung recently vacated. 

There's a pause that stretches on longer than is comfortable. “Blood.” You can  _ hear  _ the wince in his voice **.**

“Quick, uh, quick question?” you say. 

“Yeah?”

“What the  _ fuck _ .”

There's a sharp bark of laughter from him, which he then looks sheepish about. For a guy who went to town on your wrist, he seems pretty nice. 

“Okay,” you say, trying to think. Everything about this night is absurd. Maybe you miscalculated and this is all just a particularly vivid night terror. Maybe this is really happening and you're just experiencing your new standard of living. There's always something that doesn't add up whenever you try to theorize, so you do the only thing that makes sense: “Take me with you to get what Saeyoung asked you for,” you say. 

Hyun hesitates. “That's not going to… scare you?” He looks doubtful. 

“Oh, hell yeah, it is, but if you show me what's going on I can either  _ stop _ being scared out or freak out more.”

So he hesitates, then nods and gestures for you to follow him. He starts off down that hallway to the right of the stairs, where you saw a light in the distance. 

You are silent as he leads the way, thoughts unable to settle on just one avenue, but finally you begin, “so… I still haven't gotten much of an explanation.”

“Not sure I have one to give,” he says, sounding apologetic. It’s at this moment that you reach the end of the hallway and discover the source of the light at last: a kitchen. Huh. “We've… never had someone here who didn’t know about all this.” He makes his way over to the fridge -- stainless steel, real modern-looking. More than a little out-of-place with the rest of the kitchen decor. The kitchen doesn’t look quite as antiquated as the rest of the house, but it’s gotta be a couple decades behind at least.

You ask, “And ‘this’ is what, serial killer tendencies? Bloodplay fetishes taken way too far? Black market dealings? Like wh--Jesus Christ, this proves my point actually, this is a hell of a lot of blood packs. Why do you… have these?” It's just -- flush with blood. Closed containers, blood packs mostly, but… shit. You pause, taking it all in, then cast a sideways glance at him. “I'm not going to like this answer, am I?”

“Probably not,” he admits. 

“Okay,” you say, “great. Then just… tell me, is it -- are you -- dangerous?” There's a moment of hesitation, and your stomach drops out. “Oh, god.”

“No, no!” he says hastily. “We're not going to hurt you. Just--” He gestures to you, and you are reminded of your bloodied state. 

“I'm not hurt,” you say after a moment. “But… I see what you mean, I think. Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“No,” he says, palming a blood pack, “but more often than it should.” He hesitates, then offers it to you. “Do you mind…?”

And you're already in this deep. You might as well. “Sure,” you say, and allow him to pass you a few more, which you stack in your arms. “Y’know, maybe I should have guessed that something was up when the, uh, mess that is currently me didn't raise any questions.”

He laughs softly, gathering up a few for himself as well. “I'd imagine you've had a long day,” he says kindly. 

He pulls back and closes the door to the fridge, and you ask, “Did Saeyoung tell you what happened?”

Hyun makes a face, lips twisting in distaste. Somehow, he still manages to make this look pretty. “No. All he said was ‘hello hyung, Saeran isn't as bad as he looks but I’d appreciate it if you could grab him something to patch him up, and by the way, someone's here!’” His eyes widen and he adds a lilt to his voice in an impression of Saeyoung that's… pretty damn good, actually. 

“Ah,” you say. “Well, I can't shed  _ much _ light on what happened, but Saeran came crashing through my window, chased by… something. Keeps insisting that he's fine, even though I thought he was about to keel over in my living room.” 

He clicks his tongue and mutters, “That boy, always so rude,” and you grin. 

“Got him to a clinic which he  _ refused  _ to use, and then something knocked into the car.” You hesitate. “...I think I hit it on the way out.”

“You didn't see what it was?”

“Not a good look, at least. Seemed big. Wasn't really interested in sticking around long enough for a better view.”

“Better to be safe,” he agrees, then frowns, looking contemplative. “I wonder why…”

“Saeran said he, uh, said something to piss someone off. So. Still don't know what that was or who he said it too, but he seems to think that's the root of the problem.”

“That  _ boy _ …”

You reach the front area once more and start up the stairs with him. “Just so I'm clear, are  _ all  _ the emergencies that happen here Saeran’s fault?” 

“This doesn't happen often,” he says, and then concedes, “but when it happens on this scale, the odds are good that he's why.”

As you make your way down the hallway, following his lead, a thought occurs to you. “...is a fridge the right temperature to store these?” You ask, glancing down at the bags in your arms. They're cool against your skin, but maybe not as much as you'd expect. 

“This one is.” He shakes his head a little. “Don't ask me if it's like that on its own or not, I had nothing to do with setting it up.”

“You just live here,” you tease, and he agrees. 

“Seven’s the tech expert. Well, Saeran too, but he keeps his projects to his room, at least.”

“Why d’you call him Seven?” you ask, just as he pauses outside a door. 

“Ahh, just a nickname. Something he uses when he does his thing.” 

“And what's his thing, exactly?”

He gives a helpless shrug. “You'd have better luck asking him. He's explained it to me but…” He shakes his head. Hell if I know, he seems to say. “Now…” He knocks on the door. “Seven?” he calls. 

Saeyoung’s voice floats through the door in singsong. “Who is it~?”

“You--” Hyun huffs. “Just tell me if it’s safe to come in or not,” Hyun huffs. 

“Mmm… almost! But it's fine, it's fine!”

“I have her with me!” Hyun calls. 

“Oh! Tell her not to come in yet, it's not ready!” 

Hyun sighs. “Sorry,” he says to you. “You could wait here while I give him these, if you want. Or there's a sitting area just over that way if you'd prefer that.”

“D’you think it'll take that long?”

“Mmm… if there's still some of Saeran’s traps laying around, Saeyoung is probably still tending to Saeran. Might be a while, but maybe not? Depends on whether he just cleared enough of a path to help Saeran or if he's been working his way through the rest.”

“ _ Why  _ is Saeran’s room trapped?”

“Seven,” Hyun says simply. “I don't think it works.”

“Ah.”

“Seven  _ should  _ have them all dismantled for you before you come in so you won't get caught up in any of them.” And then he mutters, “just me.”

You wince. “Good luck,” you say, carefully handing over the blood packs in your arms. 

“I'll make sure he doesn't forget the rest of them for you,” he says, and as you thank him, he turns the doorknob and steps inside. 

You stand there for a few minutes, waiting, but there is only silence. So, with some reluctance, you head down the hallway in the direction he indicated. 

You're nearly to the end of it when you hear a crash followed by muffled cursing. Sounds like he was right. Poor Hyun. 

You turn back when the door opens a moment later to see Hyun, looking a little flustered as he smoothes down his hair. When he spots you, he gives a wave, but shakes his head. Not ready for you, then. 

You nod back and continue down the hall. 

The sitting room, as he called it, is an interesting contradiction. The couches here look as old as the ones downstairs, but there's a flatscreen tv against one wall along with various gaming consoles. Is that a wii? Huh. 

You pick one of the couches -- pink velvet, an interesting choice -- and take a seat. 

And wait. 

And… wait. 

Didn't Saeyoung say he might need your help with Saeran? Of course, home surgery seems like it's tricky business, so maybe it's just going to take longer than you'd thought. 

God, why are you going along with this again? The clinic, you think, that's where things went off course. Up until then, you were only doing what felt necessary, but you should've -- ran back inside and stayed there when he refused to go in, or something. 

...you abandoned your car by the side of the road. God damn, you had better hope this is just a weird but ultimately mostly-harmless situation, because if not, the wikipedia page about your murder is just going to be embarrassing. 

If they're murderers, they're a merry bunch of murderers. Kind of… inept, too. Maybe your odds are just fine. 

You hear the soft creak of a door opening, and you cock your head, listening for Saeyoung’s voice, but it doesn't come. Might just be Hyun heading back to his room. 

You sigh and settle back into the couch, letting your head drop. It's kind of a nice couch, actually. Doesn't have that veneer of dust over it like the ones downstairs do, and it's soft when you run your palm over the seat beside you. 

A floorboard creaks and you raise your head. 

There is someone padding closer with quiet footsteps, coming from the direction of the other hallway. 

You startle a little at the sight of him and the fact that you only barely heard him coming, though his appearance take away the sharpness of that shock. 

He looks  _ soft _ , with big, violet eyes and slightly-unruly blonde hair kept in place with bright clips that barely manage to keep it down in spots. He comes to stand in front of you and fidgets with the sleeves of his oversized cream sweater where they drape over his hands. 

He's…  _ adorable.  _

“You're the one who brought Saeran home?” He asks you. 

“Uh -- yeah, I am,” you say. “With Saeyoung, but… yeah.”

He nods, glances at the seat beside you, and slowly pads over to sit beside you. 

You almost want to check and see if his feet are dangling off the couch, although he's not  _ that  _ short. Saeran’s assessment, you find, is right. Hyun is tall; Yoosung, who this must be, just… isn't. Honestly, he's probably a perfectly average height, he’s just… not as tall as the others. 

He offers you a faint smile. “Thank you for getting him here safe. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't help him out. How does he seem look? Is he… okay?” He -- Yoosung -- asks you. 

“Well, I… haven't seen Saeran since Saeyoung took him up here, but he looked... pretty rough.” Really, you still think a hospital would be better. They have blood, but do they have any way to facilitate a transfusion?

Yoosung nods, eyes sliding to the floor. 

He looks… entirely morose, and you find yourself scrambling to reassure him. “But he and Saeyoung both seem confident that he'll pull through, and Hyun too, so -- I'm sure he'll be just fine!”

Yoosung nods again, but now he looks teary-eyed. 

“Aww, hey, it's not --  _ that _ bad.” His eyes flick down to your bloodstained clothes, and you wince. “I mean it's not that  _ good _ , either--” His face crumples. “But still, I'm sure he'll pull through! He made it here, after all, he seems pretty resilient.” Stubborn, more like, but that's not a particularly comforting assertion. “So… don't you worry, Yoosung.” That's it. That's all the comforting words you can think up. You've got no clue how Saeran's doing, and you have more hope than certainty when it comes to your stance on whether he'll be alright in the end. 

“That's a good sign,” he says, wiping his eyes, “if he was well enough to tell you about me.”

“Yyyeah! Yeah, it's a very good sign.” You won't inform him that it was Saeyoung that gave you the rundown, and Saeran mostly stood there looking woozy with only the occasional comment. 

There's a moment of silence. “I'm just,” he begins haltingly, “so worried.” 

He turns his big, watery eyes on you and your heart aches. Poor thing, concerned about his friend.  _ This  _ is a reaction that makes sense to you. 

Hesitantly, you open your arms a little. You really don't know him well enough to be casually offering him a hug, but you have no idea what you could say now that would help him. 

Your worries about whether this seems awkward are unfounded. The moment you shift, he collapses into you. 

Boy, he  _ is  _ soft. He clutches at your shirt, burying his face in your chest, and he sniffles as you tentatively begin to stroke his hair. 

This is… sad, but admittedly puts your mind at ease about what kind of people they are. Strange, still, but if he's this affected by Saeran's state, at least they're not  _ entirely  _ used to situations like what Saeran -- and you -- went through tonight.

Yoosung says nothing as he winds his arms around your waist, just nuzzles into you, so the hug is helping a little, at least. 

You're feeling slightly proud of yourself for managing to put him more at ease when he tugs at the hem of your shirt, turns his head, and bites the newly-bared flesh. 

You yelp, letting your arms fall. “What--” Looking down at him confirms that no, it was not an accidental punch or anything so innocuous, and he has indeed sunk his teeth into the swell of your breast -- and he doesn't seem like he plans on letting go. 

At first, stunned as you are, you just try to lean back out of his reach, but his arms are anchors around you. 

You feel his tongue lap over your skin and he looks up at you, still attached. His eyes seem to be a particularly vibrant violet, bright and vivid and lovely, and you find yourself blinking heavily -- and then you remember how hazy everything got when you looked into Hyun’s eyes earlier, and you don't even want to think about what's going on with that, but you squeeze your eyes shut and ram the heel of your palm against his forehead. 

It doesn't quite have your full weight behind it because _Jesus_ , what if he takes some skin with him as he goes, you'd like your chest to stay intact, thanks -- but it still works, and he pulls away. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” you cry out immediately, scrambling back to the arm of the couch and pressing a hand to your chest protectively. 

Through this, dimly, you register that while it did hurt, it wasn't much pain, and there wasn't that feeling of  _ crushing  _ that you'd get if he had clamped his jaws down on you. 

He has the decency to look somewhat sheepish, but  _ barely --  _ but then he actually  _ licks his lips _ . 

“Explain yourself,” you demand. 

“Seven  _ said _ he brought someone over,” he complains. 

“Okay, I've heard something about ‘courtesy bites’ tonight and that sounds like some kind of bullshit already, so don't you go saying that's what this was because I didn't buy it then and I'm definitely not buying it now.”

He pouts at you but oh no, you are  _ not  _ falling for that cute facade now, so eventually he lets it drop and huffs, “Why would I need a courtesy bite?”

“Hell if I know! Hyun said it was the polite thing to do, though no goddamn biting at all seems  _ much  _ more courteous to me.”

The pout is back. “Hyun can bite you but I can't?” 

You are not responsible for the noise of extreme disbelief you just made. “He sure as shit  _ can't _ . And you can't, either! Why the hell would you ever think otherwise?”

“Seven  _ said _ \--”

“Do you normally go around biting people or is Saeyoung saying you have company some kind of sleeper code that turns you into some bite-obsessed creep?”

Yoosung does not deign to reply to this. “It used to be  _ so  _ much easier to get a meal,” he mutters, sulkily resting his chin in his hands and staring at the floor. “Didn't have to deal with cameras or streetlights. Could just enthrall someone for a day or two and that was it.”

“--I'm sorry?” you ask. “What does that--”

He raises his head and you realize you have made a mistake and let your guard down too much, because whatever it was that made his stare hypnotizing before is on full-force now. 

“Son of a bitch,” you murmur as you start to go limp, falling back against the couch. 

He resettles himself, finding a more comfortable position, and as you watch him draw nearer -- is he going for your  _ neck? _ \-- you say with effort, “I swear to god, you try and bite me again and I'm going to raise hell.”

He frowns, pausing. “I just want a taste!” he protests, voice a plaintive whine. “I'm sick of those blood packs!” With a sullen expression, he moves in again. 

“Yoosung, fuck  _ off _ .”

The authoritative tone is marred by the fact that Saeran is leaning heavily against the wall and he looks fairly weak in the knees, but Yoosung turns away from you, and the spell is broken. 

Saeran aims a glare at Yoosung, but Yoosung just wraps his arms around you. “But Saeran, we’re having so much fun!” You must have missed  _ that _ memo. Saeran’s glare intensifies and Yoosung tightens his embrace, then switches tactics, protesting, “I barely ate!” 

What the  _ hell _ . “No!” you say, just as Saeran say “no.”

“No?” he asks. He looks from you to Saeran, and then his petulant expression returns. “Don’t take her away now, I'm  _ hungry _ ,” he moans. He turns to you and puts more effort into his pout, trying to elicit your sympathy. 

You wiggle your arms free from his grasp and shove him to put some space between you. “That would work better if you'd ever actually asked me, you know,” you snap. 

He blinks wide e yes at you. “Please?”

“Little late for that now!” You push at Yoosung’s arms again and wrest free of him at last, stumbling a little as you move away from the couch. 

Saeran pushes off from the wall as you near, but sways, so you hurry to slip an arm around his waist, and he slings his arm over your shoulders. 

You toss a glance behind you as you go, to see Yoosung still sitting on the couch, arms crossed, knees folded up to his chest, looking put out. 

You’re unable to resist the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him before he disappears from view, and you think you hear him make a scandalized noise as you walk away with Saeran.

“Sorry,” Saeran mutters as the pair of you start along the hallway, “he's not usually a problem.”

“Not usually so clingy?” There’s a sardonic lilt to that last word. 

“No. He’s always clingy. Not often with guests, though.”

“Lucky me,” you mutter, then ask, “how’re you feeling?” 

“Like I got thrown through a window.”

“Shit, you’d better after what you’ve been through. I’d be more worried if you couldn’t feel it. But you’re up and walking anyway?”

“Mmh. Came to get you.”

“...your brother is busy?”

Saeran pulls a face as you reach his bedroom door. “Defanging my deterrents.  _ None  _ of them worked on him, anyway.” And he opens the door. 

His room looks like a goth paradise. God, is that a canopy bed? He's living the dream. 

He staggers inside with your help, and scowls when he sees Saeyoung, although he still moves forward with your help until he can sag down on the edge of his bed. “You've done it. It's taken care of. This was not an open invitation. Get out.”

“You patched him up alright?” you ask Saeyoung. There's nothing you can see that he would have used, except what you brought up with Hyun. Some of the packets are ripped open, though there don't seem to be any signs of spills on the sheets. 

“Yes ma'am!” Saeyoung gives a salute, and Saeran huffs. 

“So…  _ do  _ you need me to help at all, then?”

“Guess not!” he says cheerfully, and before you can ask why Saeran found it so urgent to come and get you himself, if that’s the case, he narrows his eyes like he's about to divulge some great secret and says, “Saeran wanted to talk.”

“Yeah?” you glance at Saeran. “Must've wanted that pretty bad to go looking for me when you're still feeling like you got thrown through a window.”

It might be your imagination, but he seems to pink. He addresses his brother instead responding to you. “Didn't I say to get out? Go.”

Saeyoung shrugs and heads for the door, but stops just in front of it, turns back to you, gives a little flourishing bow, and then turns on his heel and heads out. “Yell if you need anything!” he advises as the door shuts behind him. 

Saeran mutters something, and you can't help but laugh at the annoyance on his face. “Too much?”

“Just has no off switch,” he mutters. 

You nod, and as you glance around, you realize that while you had taken note of the blood packs set out on the bed, only now do you see that some of these do  _ not _ look like they were packaged professionally. 

Some have the blood type scrawled in messy handwriting along with a few details you can't quite make out, and another is just -- double-bagged in resealable plastic bags. 

“Do you -- need these still?” you ask, and he shakes his head. 

“Not right now,” he says. 

So you clear these away, setting the unopened packs carefully on his nightstand and the open ones beside these after a moment of deliberation, then help him scoot back on the bed. He props himself up against the backboard with a pillow behind him, and you do the same, coming to rest next to him. 

“Feel okay?” you ask when he winces after adjusting himself, but he nods. 

“Just stings a bit,” he says. 

“...can I see?” you ask after a moment, curiosity overwhelming you. 

He lifts his shirt carefully, and you hiss in a breath. There's no glass there, and you can tell that the area has been cleaned up some, as there's no blood around his torso or abdomen, but contrary to what you imagined, there's no sign of sewing to be seen, no stitches. Just a lonesome butterfly bandage on either side of the gash. 

But it's not as open or as  _ oozing  _ as you'd expect with that in mind. The edges already have that pinkish sheen of new skin. 

Still, it's wide and raw and definitely painful. “Geez,” you mutter, and he lets the hem of his shirt drop. 

Technically, you never did get a good look at his wounds, but you _did_ see the mess that was left behind, and how much he picked out of himself, and you know you saw him pull himself off that long shard when you helped him into your apartment, and this just doesn't quite match up with that. 

You settle back on the bed, crossing your legs and resting your hands in your lap. 

There's a thought that won't leave you alone, that keeps you glancing at your wrist where Hyun had bit you earlier, where there's just two little marks. 

You tug at the collar of your shirt to better look at yourself, and it's the same on your chest. 

There isn’t a sign of the teeth marks you’d been expecting from an encounter like the one you had with Yoosung, not even fading ones, just those same twin punctures. You should be more surprised than you are, but you can't bring yourself to be shocked. It just feels like one more piece in a puzzle that you really don't want to see revealed.

Blood, biting, and -- well, either remarkable resilience in the face of what should be a far more life-threatening wound, or he's healing up faster than you've ever seen, or… you're losing your grip and misjudging what you saw. 

“This has been… a really weird night,” you say at last. 

He snorts.

“Two of your roommates bit me. One of them referred to me as food. You seem to be _drinking_ blood, or else you pulled the shittiest prank on me in the car by pretending to do that. Fuck you for giving me that empty pack when we got inside, by the way, that nearly gave me a heart attack.” He grins smugly. “There's a lot of conclusions I could draw from this, and to be honest, I don't like any of them. I just… want to know what’s going on, but it doesn't click together right.” Forgetting likelihood, forgetting what is so outside the realm of possibility that you _should_ reject the thought immediately… You draw in a slow breath. “I have… a theory,” you say. “And I like that least of all, but I keep coming back to it.” 

“What’s the theory?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You won't tell me?” You shake your head again and he narrows his eyes at you. “Why is that?”

It all comes out in a rush. “Because it’s -- look, I’ve been through a lot, okay, not to discount what you went through because damn, I would not want to trade places with you, but I’m still wrapping my head around everything, it's very possible I am jumping to conclusions because I'm still panicking, right?”

“...right.” He looks faintly amused. 

“Right. I could be… misinterpreting, or forgetting a vital piece of evidence that would explain everything because I am, as you know, freaking out.”

“Right.” Now he looks more than just  _ faintly  _ amused. 

“And -- you know those prank shows they do? Where they -- they focus on the person and try to make them look like a fool? I have _no_ desire to be a part of that, okay, they always look like idiots and that's the only thing people remember about them, so yeah, I'm keeping my mouth shut, because what if that's what this is and I go blabbing it out, and then what am I, the girl who just accepted the existence of vampires on live television? No, thank you.”

Wait -- 

_ Fuck.  _

He's just barely holding back a grin. 

“Oh my god,” you murmur, burying your face in your hands, “oh my  _ god _ .”

He laughs, and then gently places his hands over yours, tugging gently to coax you into showing your face. 

“That's an interesting theory you've got there,” he remarks teasingly. “Mind sharing how you reached that conclusion?”

You huff. “Look, you -- or they -- are obviously  _ aiming for  _ that sort of aesthetic, or… lifestyle or --” You make a face at him when you see his still-amused expression. “What do you want me to say? You just  _ have blood _ . In your fridge. Like that's a normal thing to have. And your roommates bit me. And I think one of them might have been wearing a cravat, so this feels like what they  _ want  _ me to believe, at least, and if it's going as far as biting me, then at least in terms of how it affects me? Doesn't matter if they're  _ really  _ just black-market dealers with a fetish, they're  _ basically  _ vampires. No functional difference there.”

He laughs softly, and you frown and turn away. 

“What would you say if I told you you were right?”

You fix your eyes resolutely on the wallpaper. “...might just start yelling,” you say. But there's a part of you that keeps you listening intently, pulse beginning to race at the thought that he might be serious. 

There's a moment of silence, and then: “If you let me bite you, I can prove it.”

And that gets you to turn back and look at him again. 

He certainly  _ seems _ sincere… Still, this is absurd. A bad idea in the -- impossible! -- scenario that you were right, and an  _ equally  _ bad idea if he's just some weirdo trying to pull the wool over your eyes. You shouldn't. 

You  _ have  _ to say yes. 

“You try any funny business and I'll be… very unhappy,” you caution, and he nods. “And… okay don't laugh but your roommates did that swirly-eye thing and I did not like that, so you… don't do that. Okay?”

“No swirly-eye things from me,” he says, laying a hand across his chest as if he is solemnly swearing to it. 

“Dick,” you mutter, and he smirks. 

He hikes his shirt up so that his wound is still visible when he lets go. “Keep an eye on this,” he says, “and come a little closer. You scoot so that you're kneeling  right beside him and he takes hold of your hand and flips it, then frowns. 

You look down. It's the wrist that Hyun bit. 

“Oh,” you say, “that's from Hyun.”

He lets that hand drop and reaches for the other one.

“What, you don't want to double-dip? You're gonna hurt my feelings with that attitude.”

“Ha ha,” he mocks. “Just watch the wound.”

He flips over your other hand and runs his thumb gently over your wrist. It tickles a little and you let out a breathy laugh. 

“I should make you use the other one,” you say, “just for being rude like that.”

He makes a face at you but doesn't reply, just lowers his head. 

You almost flinch when you feel his breath against your wrist, and you do jolt a little when you feel his teeth sink into your skin. 

It's only a slight pain, but it's… surreal. You stare at him fascinated, though you can't really see anything with his head bowed over you. 

You shiver when his tongue runs over your skin, half from the surprise of it and half from… well. 

He looks up at you and you freeze, staring into his eyes, anticipating a repeat of your earlier experiences, but he pulls away just slightly. You can see new puncture marks on your wrist, beginning to bead up, and when he runs his tongue along his lower lip, you can see the extra redness there, and… 

He chuckles softly and you blink yourself out of your trance. “Watch,” he reminds you, and he lowers his head again. 

You finally drag your eyes down to his stomach just as you feel his teeth against your skin again -- and holy shit. 

It's… closing . 

Slowly --  _ very _ slowly -- as he laps at your skin, the wound shifts before your eyes. Around the edges is where it's easiest to tell, shallow cuts closing until the butterfly bandages rest on new, pink skin. 

You reach out and touch the skin there to be sure. 

Holy  _ shit. _

By the time he pulls away again, it hasn't closed _much_ , and it still looks worrisome, but it's just a hair better -- and there's more color in his cheeks, too. 

“Okay,” you say, voice wavering, “uh.” Your voice wavers. “Weird as hell. But I believe, you, I guess. Christ.”

He smirks and licks his lips again. “Hard to take in?”

“That's putting it lightly. At least that was… one of the more pleasant biting experiences I've had tonight.” Your lips curl in distaste as you remember, “and definitely politer than the last one.”

“Mmh,” he says, brow furrowing, “You said you were bit twice.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So Yoosung already got to you before I came in.”

“Mm _ hmm _ .” You tug down your shirt to show the marks on your chest, and roll your eyes. “Courtesy of your roommate, the tit-biter.” You let go of your collar. “...y’know, he'd better actually be a vampire, because if he's just some jerk who decided to chow down on my chest for no reason--” You shake your head. “Well, it was a dick move either way, just  _ extremely  _ worrying if he doesn't even have that scrap of an excuse going for him. What's the deal with him anyway, huh? Hyun was sweet, so why was Yoosung so demanding?”

Saeran actually rolls his eyes. “Hyun’s always nice to cute girls.”

“Oh _ o _ , I'm cute, am I?”

He pinks and turns away pointedly. “Not…what I was saying.” 

“So you  _ don't  _ think I'm cute?”

“I didn't say--” He turns back to you quickly, and then his face goes from pink to deep red. He huffs, and you laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry. Finish your story.”

He gives you a reproachful look, but continues. “Yoosing’s sire was very wealthy -- the person who turned him. She spoiled him constantly, gave him a steady stream of… willing victims.”

“She fucking what.”

“Not as morbid as you might be thinking. Just… meals.”

“Ah.” 

“Plus,” and Saeran rolls his eyes again, “he’s cute so people like to dote on him, even strangers, and he knows it. Makes it easy to manipulate people into doing what he wants. Usually doesn't cause problems, but sometimes he can be… bratty.”

“I've noticed,” you mutter. 

“He'll probably run into Hyun later, who'll make him eat something, and when you see him next he'll be a total pushover.”

You smirk. “Definitely preferable. Hyun’s fashion is a bit… outdated. Is he…?”

“Old as hell? Yeah. He and Yoosung both. Turned around the same time, they say. Their sires ran in the same social circle.”

“But Hyun isn't similarly demanding.”

“From what he's said, he doesn't sound as…” Saeran shrugs and waves a hand. “Taken by the lifestyle as Yoosung was. Squabbled more with his sire.  _ He  _ sounds like a real piece of work, but I've never met him, though Hyun says he's still around somewhere. Yoosung's might be, too. Never met her, either.”

“And yours?”

His face sours immediately. Oh. 

“Forget I asked,” you say, waving a hand as if to dispel the thought, and he nods slowly, looking slightly relieved. You're still curious, but… it’s not right to push, given his reaction. Instead you ask, “so… if blood can heal you up, why are you not already healed?”

“It's not a quick process. …and there's only so much room in my stomach.”

“Oh.” Avoiding overfullness. What a… normal problem. “Still -- there's a few of these around here,” and you pick up one of the blood packs on the nightstand, “opened and drained,  _ way  _ more than what you got from me, but that wasn't enough to close that up?”

“You should have seen what it looked like before.”

“Bleh, no thanks.”

He smirks, then hesitates. “...I don't know why, but they're never as effective as…” He glances at your wrist in lieu of finishing that sentence. 

“Oh,” you say. “Huh.”

“...wasn't turned too long ago,” he says, surprising you. “Not nearly as long as Hyun and Yoosung. Hyun thinks that has something to do with it. Says you get more from it, whatever the source, with age. He could probably have done it with one or two.” He makes a face. “But  _ I _ get to take it slow.”

“And the thing about healing better when it's… uh, from the tap?” He snorts a laugh. 

“Warmth?” he guesses. “Freshness? Hell if I know.”

“You sure it's not just an excuse to get close?”

He opens his mouth to respond. looking flustered, but you rush on. 

“But--” And you’d better say this quick or you'll lose your nerve. “If you… feel up for it, I'd be willing to… help you heal a little more.”

He stops in his tracks, stunned, and his reaction heightens your embarrassment, making you trip over your words a little. 

“Doesn't even really hurt, and I can't say the same for your condition right now, so…” 

He nods rapidly, his enthusiasm radiating off of him.

“Where's the quickest spot for blood flow?” You ask. “That works for your…” You wave a hand vaguely. “Technique?”

“...neck,” he says. 

Now it's your turn to be flustered. “Ah.” But it's just a bite, and only for a few minutes, so that should be fine, right? “Well… sure, then, let's get going, huh?”

He nods again, but winces as he starts to sit up straight, which only strengthens your resolve. 

“Here,” you say, “just… stay there for now.”

You move closer to him until your hip fits snugly against his, leaning against the headboard again, then tilt your head to expose your neck. “Does this work, or should I move?”

“...I think you're good,” he says. 

Slowly, carefully, he moves closer, angling himself to fit against you better. He rests a hand on your hip and tugs gently, so you shift so that you're meeting him halfway. 

He hovers above you, unsure, and your eyes flutter shut as he nears. 

You brace yourself for pain, but when his breath spills over your skin you let out a sigh, somehow comforted by his caution. 

His teeth -- fangs, you suppose -- rest against you without breaking the skin for a long moment, and you're so wound up with anticipation that when he finally bites down, you let out a sigh. It tickles more than it hurts, just a pinch and then the pain fades to nothing. 

There's hardly anything to worry about. Why were you so nervous?

\-- and then he drags his tongue over the bite marks and understanding floods through you. Along with, uh, something else.

You realize quickly that this position has… a lot more contact with him than when he just bit your wrist. You can fill the chill of him better now, not cold, exactly, but a few degrees cooler than you. 

Bite, lick, repeat. It's not quite an even cycle -- more licking than biting, you think, and maybe that's just when the marks start to coagulate? But god, it's wreaking havoc on you. 

Can he tell that your shivers aren't because of his temperature? You clutch at the back of his shirt when he actually sucks at a spot on your neck, and that's _gotta_ just be to get blood that's running down, but you just barely suppress a moan. It comes out in a little stuttery whimper instead, and he pauses, then tightens his grip on your hip and returns his arreion to your neck with renewed vigor. 

Your hand strays up to tangle in his hair and you pull him tighter against you. 

...there's a major vein in your thigh, isn't there? You wonder if maybe -- 

And then you realize yourself. You gasp, and he draws back. 

He looks panicked at first, but when he sees your expression, it eases with relief. 

For a moment you just stare at each other, flushed and panting slightly. 

“That might've been… a bit much,” he says at last. 

“Just a bit,” you say. If you look at him for too long, you feel in danger of straying back to those thoughts. 

Oh, but did it work? 

As soon as you reach out to his wound, he jolts away. 

“--your stomach.” You say. He stares at you for a second longer, then lifts his shirt. It actually looks better -- still worrisome, but a bit more pulled together. 

But what did he think you were -- oh. 

Well. 

You can't really blame him, considering where your thoughts were straying. 

Your eyes meet and you both laugh nervously, then he averts his eyes. 

He brushes a hand through his hair, then looks at you from beneath his eyelashes. “...will you stay?” His voice is so soft you almost miss it. 

“You're staying anyway,” he asserts, “since you might be followed if you leave. And we don't have a guest bedroom. And…” He averts his eyes. “...you're warm.”

You place a hand over your chest. “Why, Saeran, are you asking me to sleep with you?”

He meets your gaze. “...yes.”

“Then I accept,” you say, pushing aside the implications that -- you, actually, brought up. Damn, you've got to watch yourself better. 

He scoots so that he's laying down. 

“Oh, right now? Right now.” You settle in next to him, and he curls into you, draping an arm over you. He presses his nose against your shoulder. 

“Warm,” he remarks, and you laugh. 

“Glad you approve.”

He nuzzles into your neck. “I do.”

“Hey,” you say, “...what was chasing us anyway?” You never did get a clear answer on that. 

“Werewolf.” He’s so nonchalant about it that you almost accept it unquestioningly. 

“No shit?”

“No shit,” he says, and you can't help but giggle at those words spoken in such a sleepy voice. 

“...Saeyoung knew, didn’t he, and he still acted clueless.” Maybe didn’t lie, exactly, but definitely waved away your concerns and pretended like he didn’t know. You’re distracted from this thought when Saeran pulls himself up just enough to look you in the eye. 

“Hey,” he says, frowning slightly. “Don’t talk about my brother.” His gaze is steady, but there’s a hint of a pout to his expression. 

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “No brother talk in bed.”

He makes a face, but nods before resting his head again. “Good.” And that’s all he says about that. 

For several long moments, long enough that you start to feel in danger of drifting off, eyelids growing heavy, you just lay there. 

“...thanks,” he murmurs, leaning more heavily into you. 

“For what?” you laugh. 

“Mmm… this. Helping. Staying. Everything.”

“Everything, huh? Even the parts where we both just yelled at each other?”

He frowns without opening his eyes. “Shush. Dunno. I'm tired."

“I would imagine so,” you say, barely suppressing a yawn. Really, it's a miracle he's stayed awake this long. 

Sleepily, you reach to grab at the sheets around you. It's not particularly effective since you're both laying on them, but you do your best to pull them to cocoon the pair of you. It probably looks a bit misshapen, but if it's warmth he's after, this'll do the trick. 

“...you thankful for how warm I am, too?”

He turns to wrap his other arm around you. “Yes. Stay.”

“Don't worry,” you murmur, “just get some rest.”  

You stroke his hair and he whines in satisfaction, pressing himself closer to you in a tired daze.

It's been… a long day. For the both of you. It's certainly not how you thought you'd be ending the night, and there are… things you'd change about this night, if you could, a great many things. But somehow, you're not entirely unhappy with where you are now.

You wrap an arm around him, and you drift off, content. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween!!! this is almost 40 pages and im dying.  
> i hadnt written zen and yoosung before this fic and i wrote them in a fic where theyre centuries-old vampires like could i not have tried to write them normally first??? apparently not whats wrong with me. hope u like it anyway. im very tired.  
> niku requested vampire saeran and it got super out of hand when i developed backstories and suffice to say ur getting smutty follow-ups w/ each of the vamp boys at some undisclosed point in the future thank u for ur time and goodbye


End file.
